


Saltwater and Ash

by GonEwiththeWolveS



Series: Witcherworld snap [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, But no actual MCU people show up, I just want the angst potential, M/M, Or are mentioned, They have no idea what's going on, Witcher World is in the MCU, pure angst, the snap, with the Thanos and the ash, yup that one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GonEwiththeWolveS/pseuds/GonEwiththeWolveS
Summary: Witcherworld is snapped.By Thanos, yup....Because I said so.“No,” Geralt says, the sound ripped out of him like a knife from an open wound. He grabs at Jaskier’s upper arms, squeezing hard like pressure will be enough to stop the spread.Jaskier looks up at him, eyes wide and glistening with fear and sorrow. His bottom lip quivers.“I love you,” he breathes. A tear rolls down his cheek.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcherworld snap [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932991
Comments: 33
Kudos: 135





	Saltwater and Ash

Geralt growls into his mug of ale as Jaskier starts up another rendition of ‘toss a coin to your witcher’ for the third -- third! -- time tonight. The little brat is enjoying himself too, all coy smiles and teasing smirks whenever he catches Geralt’s eye. 

At least the small tavern audience seems to be appreciating the performance. Jaskier’s open lute case has racked up quite the collection of coin already. 

Geralt would just prefer it if Jaskier kept him out of the spotlight, but that was nigh impossible. From the moment they stepped foot inside the tavern and Jaskier proclaimed himself as the famed witcher companion-bard, attention had showered on him and, by association, Geralt. 

One of the downsides of the newly acquired good publicity, was that people didn’t seem to fear him as much, so a simple frown directed their way was not enough to make them scurry away like it once did. Oh no, now they were daring enough to sit down at his table uninvited and try to strike up a conversation, even after several sullen silences and growled out monosyllabic replies. 

At least he was alone for the time being, even if he had to ignore the dozen glances being thrown at him every fifteen seconds. 

He took another sip of his ale just as Jaskier started the chorus. As soon as he was done with this tankard, he was heading out. Maybe go for a ride in the woods to clear his head. Jaskier was obviously set here, there was no need for his presence. 

He’d return later on to catch some shuteye and they’d leave in the morning for Murivel.

Jaskier reaches the end of the chorus and people start clapping along. He can acutely feel another person’s gaze on the back of his neck like a branding iron. 

He groans and brings the chipped worn mug to his lips to take a mouthful of the bad-tasting liquor, wishing it was something stronger that would at least justify the flavor. 

He drains the rest of the ale and sets the tankard down on the wooden table. He’s gonna get out of here before the patrons request _another_ encore. 

He pushes his chair back, making a scraping noise against the floor that would be almost inaudible over the playing lute if not for his keen sense of hearing, and stands up to leave.

Before he can get very far, though, a piercing scream cuts through the room, halting everyone in their tracks. The music stops, conversations fall flat, good mood replaced with uneasiness, and Geralt tenses. The sound had come from outside, probably from the street right next to the tavern.

Other cries start up then, terror and grief stricken, and Geralt springs into action. He runs towards the entrance doors, shoving them open as he steps outside. 

Chaos greets him on the street. He sees people fleeing, horror and panic in their eyes, women kneeling on the ground, howling to the skies, horses running loose with saddles and bridles but no riders, and amongst all the chaos, he sees none of the reason behind it. 

There is no invading force, no monster in sight, and no magic in use. His medallion hasn’t hummed once and none of his senses have gone off, he hears no sounds of struggles or fighting, merely disarray. What has happened?

He hears the clatter of a tankard crashing to the ground from inside the tavern, followed by the sound of a table or chair tipping over and a shout. It sounds like one of the bar wenches. 

He feels a rush of adrenaline, caused by a disconcerting feeling in his chest as he remembers Jaskier -- _he’s inside._ Geralt needs to make sure he’s safe.He turns on his heels and races back into the tavern. 

The sight that welcomes him as he runs in is not one he was expecting. He sees one of the men that was watching Jaskier perform, a farmhand from the look of him, stumbling around and… turning to dust?

He’s standing upright, what’s left of his arms outstretched in front of him as he stares at the disappearing limbs in abject horror. 

Geralt freezes, gaping at the man as the curse, or whatever it is, reaches his chest and spreads towards his legs and neck. His head is the last thing to go. He has his mouth open as it happens, probably trying to scream, but the dust has already eaten away his voice box.

Geralt has never seen anything like this, he has no idea what kind of witch or wizard would be able to cast a spell like it. If this was what was happening outside in the village, it would take an extraordinary amount of power to do so. And he hadn’t felt the use of magic, so either this powerful wizard had learnt to perfectly mask his magic or this was something else entirely.

In his vast life experience, he hasn’t ever seen the gods intervene in the affairs of men, but if he had to hazard a guess at whatever this was, he wouldn’t know what else to say. 

Horrified shrieks fill the tavern and Geralt turns his head to see the bar wench from before fading into ash as well.

Jaskier! _Where is he_? He needs to find and they need to leave. _Now_.

He whips his head around, locating him across the room. He’s next to an elderly man, a terrified look on his face as he reaches for the man’s disappearing arm and his hand closes around empty air. 

The tavern has broken into chaos in the meantime, people bolting towards the exits and knocking down tables with tankards and candles in their haste to escape.

Geralt runs towards Jaskier, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him towards the back door. Jaskier resists at first, hands shooting out to the old man who’s down to his upper body and head, but Geralt pulls harder and pushes him forward. They need to _get out_. 

He drags him to the exit, shoving a man out of their way when he blocks their path, and rams into the back door, nearly ripping it off its hinges.

“Geralt!” Jaskier yells as they run into the street. “Geralt, what the hell is happening?”

Geralt has no idea, so he just tightens his hold on Jaskier and pushes forward. A fleeing horse appears suddenly in front of them and Geralt yanks Jaskier back so they can avoid being trampled by the animal. It leaves behind a trail of dust.

There are people screaming and running wherever he looks, he can barely hear himself think over the deafening noise. 

“I left my lute inside,” He hears Jaskier shout over the commotion. Geralt grabs hold of him by the forearm and forces them back into a run, heading towards the place he left Roach. Hopefully she’s still there.

“We’ll get you a new one,” Geralt rebuffs, not letting Jaskier pause in their attempt to escape.

They pass an old woman pleading to the gods for her life and a young boy crying on the ground, tiny hands clutching around bits of dirt-- no, not dirt. Ash. The whole street is littered with it.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says. A whisper. Geralt barely hears it over the noise, even with his advanced hearing. He sounds terrified. “Geralt, stop.”

Geralt ignores him. He needs to get them out of here. Maybe if they leave town, they can escape whatever curse has befallen it. He makes a left turn towards the village stables. 

It’s about ten seconds later that he loses his grip on Jaskier. One second he’s holding onto his arm for dear life, using it as an anchor in this sea of madness he’s trying to navigate, and the next he’s clutching thin air, his fingers are hitting the palm of his own hand.

He whirls around, a sinking feeling in his chest as he looks down and sees what he was dreading the most. Jaskier’s arms are turning to ash. 

“No,” Geralt says, the sound ripped out of him like a knife from an open wound. He grabs at Jaskier’s upper arms, squeezing hard like pressure will be enough to stop the spread.

Jaskier looks up at him, eyes wide and glistening with fear and sorrow. His bottom lip quivers.

“I love you,” he breathes. A tear rolls down his cheek.

Geralt’s heart does a complicated hurtful twist in his chest, and he reaches forward instinctively, pulling Jaskier to him and sliding his hands to the bard’s back when the ash reaches his elbows. 

He can’t-- he can’t lose Jaskier. Not like this, not yet. Why is this happening? No. _No_.

Jaskier tilts his head up, tear tracks glistening on his face, and his lips find Geralt’s. His eyes flicker shut and Geralt’s do the same in response. He doesn’t want to see the moment it happens.

Geralt has never kissed Jaskier before, though he’s thought about it, many times. It was impossible not to. Jaskier had an aura that demanded attention. It was in everything he did, everything he said. He was a hopeless flirt, and he was not ashamed of it. 

Usually Geralt just flipped him off and ignored him, but... there was a part of him that longed. Something that yearned to be loved, even if he felt like he didn’t deserve it. 

He wants to turn back time, wants to do things differently. But he can’t. And he’s gonna lose someone he cares about. Again. Why does this keep happening to him? He should have learnt to stop caring years ago. But he doesn’t think he could ever force himself not to, not when it comes to Jaskier.

Jaskier’s lips are soft against his, caressing. The kiss is slow and full of feeling, heartbreak and regret. He tastes saltwater on his tongue.

He can feel ash gathering in his hands, the warmth of Jaskier’s body disappearing beneath his palms.

He squeezes his eyes shut and kisses harder.

Another heartbroken wail cuts through the air. A baby cries in the distance.

He pours his whole heart into the kiss. Tries to give Jaskier all that he was unable to in the past thirteen years, all the love and emotion he kept hidden under lock and key. He just needs Jaskier to stay with him. Please. 

There’s ash in his mouth. 


End file.
